


Wrought in Secret, and Long Was the Making

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Odysseus and Penelope Inspiration, Rickon Lives, Sansa misses Jon, marriage proposals, mention of abortion, mix between bookverse and showverse I guess, sneaky Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Arya thinks Sansa is being a ninny, locking herself up in her room now Jon has left for Dragonstone to treat with Daenerys Targaryen... Things turn out to be more complicated than she expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsnow (bravegentlestrong)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravegentlestrong/gifts).



> Title from Tolkien's description of Arwen making a banner for Aragorn.
> 
> Written for Lizzie's prompt: Sansa makes Jon a personal banner ;)

Arya kicks up some snow as she scowls at the men sparring in the training yard. Life in Winterfell has become awfully dull since Jon left.

Rickon provides a nice distraction, chasing after the wolves or running around the keep naked as his name day. Arya is trying to instruct him in waterdancing, but she's not the most patient of teachers and Rickon lacks restraint and finesse. And even though he's still more Wildling than lordling, he  _is_ the King in the North, so he is either in one of his lessons or holding court under Sansa's watchful guidance, Shaggydog by his side.

They didn't mean for Rickon to take up his duties as King at this point. Jon and Sansa had agreed that people needed to see him, but they wanted to protect him as well. Their hand was forced when the rumours were starting to get out of control. Apparently some of their bannermen believed Lady Lannister and the Black Bastard of the Wall had found a random child to impersonate their youngest brother to secure their own hold on the North, hungry for power as they were supposed to be.

Arya heard them argue about it one night. She thought it a ridiculous notion then and she still does. If Jon or Sansa wanted power, it would have been easier for them with Rickon out of the picture. Despite the lingering tension over some unresolved issues on the subject, they agreed that their bannermen needed to be appeased. Jon and Sansa quarrelled all the time, but they still spent most of their time together, ruling the North in Rickon's name.

She knows she shouldn't be jealous. After all, when Lord Reed had brought the news about Jon's true parents, her brother and sister's relationship changed into something she and Jon would never be, something she could never want with him. But she can't help feeling left out from time to time.

And now Jon is gone and he might not come back and Sansa has become all she has left, except that she doesn't really have her. Sansa wouldn't dare neglect her duties as Rickon's regent and Lady of Winterfell, but if her presence isn't needed elsewhere, she wastes her time locked up inside her chambers by herself.

She went up there a couple of times and Sansa even let her in, but she spent the afternoon bent over a large and heavy piece of black cloth, eyes narrowed and the tip of her tongue between her lips.

Perhaps Arya should have asked what she was working on, but she was afraid Sansa's explanation might bore her and her sister would get cross with her. It was nice sitting up there together, for a while, but too soon Arya started feeling jitterish pent up in the lady's solar and she left again.

Sansa doesn't want any other company when she's in her chambers, except for Sam, Jon's friend and former black brother.

Arya saw them laugh quietly together once. Sansa wiped away a tear, a wistful smile on her lips.

Arya looks up. She's of half a mind to scold the men who won't let her join their training, but it's no use.  _If Jon was here, he'd make them._ Brienne is still here, but since Littlefinger came back she's hardly left Sansa's side.

Arya makes her way up to the family quarters and unsurprisingly finds the lady knight standing outside Sansa's door.

"Lady Arya," Brienne greets her. 

"I haven't seen you in the training yard for a while, Brienne."

She offers her a curt nod. "I am Lady Stark's sworn sword. My duty to her comes first."

 _If_ Lady Stark  _let me get rid of that snake, she wouldn't need your protection all the time._  "I suppose so... But I'm starting to wonder if you still know how to use that sword."

The right corner of Brienne's mouth curls up. "On the morrow then perhaps."

"On the morrow," Arya agrees as Brienne lets her enter her sister's chambers. 

Sansa is sitting in the same chair she's always occupying lately. It's close to the window and remarkably colder than the seats by the fire. Arya considers asking her whether it's because of the light when Sansa looks up to stare out the window, a far-away look in her puffy eyes, and her face blotched.

Arya closes the door behind her and her sister's head turns, her features morphing into a fake smile. "Arya! I wasn't expecting you!"

She chews her lip as she considers whether she should ask the question. "What's wrong?" The words roll from her lips before she's made the conscious decision to utter them.  

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sansa answers in a cheery voice. "I am perfectly fine, thank you!" She inclines her head to focus on her needlework. 

Arya rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I can tell you've been crying."

Her hands still over the black fabric in her lap. "It's nothing."

Arya's crosses the room, about to object when she quietly adds: "You'll think me silly."

"No, I won't!" she blurts out as she takes the seat opposite Sansa.

Sansa arches an eyebrow.

"Alright then," she concedes, "just tell me and I- I'll try to understand."

Sansa's shoulders jerk as if she's trying to shake off a chill. If Jon was here, he'd probably drape his cloak around her or coax her into moving closer to the fire, but Sansa wouldn't allow anyone else to do that, only Jon.

"My moonblood came this morning," she says in a voice so low Arya almost didn't catch it. She blinks, not understanding. 

"I thought..." she continues. "It had been over two moons, so I..."

Her mouth falls open. "You wanted a babe? But you're not married!"

"As if you'd care!" Sansa sneers.

"Not really... But you would!" she objects. "And so would Jon!"

"I know," she whispers, shrinking before Arya's eyes. "I just hoped that I'd at least get to keep a part of him."

"He'll come back," Arya states with a certainty she doesn't feel.

"You don't know that!"

It's true. They've discussed this before. Sending Jon South was not without any risks. They knew they wouldn't be able to keep the truth about his parents a secret forever, so they decided coming clean about it from the start would be the best course of action.

Yet it was still dangerous. If Daenerys Targaryen decided Jon was a threat, she could easily have him killed. Or perhaps she'd keep him hostage so the other Starks would do her bidding. She might even decide she'd want to marry him in true Targaryen fashion to strengthen the alliance he's supposed to negotiate.

She sighs: "I miss him too, Sansa."

"It's not the same," she mutters.

She almost snorts at her sister's pout, but anger overwhelms her out of nowhere: "No, it's not the same! You didn't even care about him until you found out he's a prince!"

"That's not true! Besides, Jon is not a prince! He's still a bastard!" She's glaring at her now, chin jutted out and her blue eyes blazing slits. 

Arya's on her feet, fists balled and nails digging into her palms. "Oh, you just had to say it, didn't you?"

"It's the truth!"

 _Right, because the truth has always been of utmost importance to you._ If she wasn't so angry, she'd probably be proud of herself for not saying that out loud. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because- Can't you see? Jon is still a bastard! And you'll never be a lady! But I don't care about that anymore!" She tries to stifle a sob.

 Arya swallows the words that were on the tip of her tongue, having already forgotten them. Too late she recognizes the gleam in Sansa's eyes as tears. She freezes.  _I've ruined it._ They're both being stupid again. She didn't mean for this to happen.

She opens her mouth but Sansa cuts her off, taking a deep breath. "My feelings for Jon haven't changed since Lord Reed told us the truth. The only difference is I don't feel as much shame and guilt over it anymore."

"What?"

Her voice is quiet and strained, as if she has to force the words out. "I thought taking our home back would make everything right, but it didn't. And we only had each other and then... Then it just happened..."

"Sansa, that's gross." She's not sure why it even makes a difference. To her, Jon will always be her brother. She bites her lip, searching her sister's face to make sure she hasn't upset her again. Her eyes fall on the cloth in her lap. "What are you making?" she asks, trying to change the subject. 

"I'm making a banner for Jon."

She frowns as she sits down again. "Why?"

"Jon is going to command our forces in the war to come. Our men will look to him to lead them and give them courage. They need to know who they're fighting for."

Knowing that they'll be fighting for their own survival should be enough, but they'll need people to inspire them. Arya wants to be one of those people, but perhaps now is not the time to tell her sister that.

"Are you still working on that wolf?"

"There are five of them. One for each of us..."

Arya doesn't miss the fact that Sansa has included Bran, even though they have no idea whether he's still alive. She also notices that her sister averts her eyes. "No," she answers, her forehead creasing. "It's the red wolf again. The same you were embroidering when I was here a sennight ago."

She purses her lips. "Our bannermen believe Jon will not return, so they've seen an opportunity."

She's thrown off by the change of subject, but decides to go along. "They- they want you to wed one of them."

Sansa nods.

"And they've waited with their proposals until Jon was gone?"

"Oh no," she scoffs, nostrils flaring. "Many of them already asked him for my hand, because it was the proper thing to do."

"But now he's gone, they've forgotten about propriety," Arya voices the implied thought. 

"I've told them I'll start considering proposals once I've finished making this banner for Jon," Sansa sighs.

"Can't you just tell them to wait until he's come back? As you said, it's not exactly right what they're doing...

Sansa gives her a look that says she's already tried that. The rage is bubbling up in Arya's chest, clouding her mind until it suddenly disappears as a realisation hits her. Her heart lurches down into her belly. "That's why Littlefinger's come back, isn't it?"

Sansa doesn't speak, but the way her face falls and her shoulders sag are answer enough. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was only buying time, but at least for a while, it worked, until the Northern lords lost their patience and she was forced to finish her work lest her deception was discovered. During her announcement, she once again hinted at her previous marriages and emphasized her duty to the North to ensure that only the best of men should be allowed to govern it, a man who could live up to the example her father had set. She was determined to find that brave, gentle and strong lord Father had promised her; no need to inform her bannermen she already had.

At first it was easy. All it took was a demure smile and a bashful batting of eyelashes to convince them she was flattered by their attentions, after which she would express her discomfort at going behind Jon's back or hint at the unfortunate circumstances of her previous marriages. Often they'd even be grateful when she changed the subject to a matter of state or inquired after a family member's health.

Then the whispers about Jon's true allegiance began, about the same time more and more council meetings started ending in discussions about the necessity of providing an heir for the North. It came to a point where not a day went by without some lord or another conveying his concern about Sansa and Rickon's vulnerable positions. 

She wasn't surprised when they grew bolder with every passing day. Ever since she'd left Winterfell all those years ago, time and time again she'd witnessed what the lure of power did to men. Still, the timing and the pattern made her suspicious. She has no proof, but she's certain her poor lords have mockingbird accomplices whispering in their ears. After all,  _Petyr_ has been foolish enough to reveal some of his methods to her and what's more, she knows what he wants. She made them believe she'd conceded, promising to set herself a deadline, but she'd never admit defeat.

Fortunately for her, it took time to get all the right materials. The gold thread, the cut dragonglass, the rubies for Ghost's eyes and the bronze spangles weren't easy to come by, but Sansa was grateful for it. After that she needed to be more cunning: she made little mistakes in her couching patterns, used a split stitch to fill in shapes where she could have chosen a quicker one and crafted the most complicated chain stitches she'd ever employed, creating new patterns. She was deliberately clumsy with the spangles and appliqués, resulting in loose threads or crooked lines.

She was only buying time, but at least for a while, it worked, until the Northern lords lost their patience and she was forced to finish her work lest her deception was discovered. During her announcement, she once again hinted at her previous marriages and emphasized her duty to the North to ensure that only the best of men should be allowed to govern it, a man who could live up to the example her father had set. She was determined to find that brave, gentle and strong lord Father had promised her; no need to inform her bannermen she already had.

Her 'mission' meant that she had to spend more time with each of them individually of course, but she decided a feast might distract them and her even more so. Never mind that their continued presence was putting a strain on their supplies. Sending them away was not an option anyway. If nothing else, it might take her mind off all of her duties and concerns for a couple of hours. Surely she could still enjoy music, dancing and company.

She should have expected to be proven wrong. The ale and wine only made her suitors more brazen and Sansa more annoyed at their advances. Naturally, Brienne was always present to discourage them from crossing any lines, but she'd feel safer with Jon by her side. She'd never let it show, but she couldn't even relax in a room full of people, unless he was there. She missed his voice and his touch. She briefly closed her eyes and saw that smile of his, the one she liked to think he saved only for her and in the blink of an eye her mood turned sour.

That's how she ended up with Rickon tucked into her side, softly singing him to sleep, while the feast was far from over. "Mother?" he murmurs in a drowsy voice. She thought he was already asleep and perhaps he is dreaming, but his eyes fly open when she turns her head instinctively. "Are you really going to marry Lord Glover or Lord Manderly?"

She allows herself a soft chuckle, as she brushes some curls from his forehead. "Of course not, little wolf." She doesn't want to lie to him, but the situation is too complicated for him to understand and she's afraid he'll throw one of his tantrums if she tries to explain it. 

"Good," he answers. "Glover is old and Manderly's fat and they both smell like horse piss."

She's too tired to scold him, barely able to rein in the smile that starts tugging up the corners of her mouth. 

"Does that mean Father's coming back?"

She hates herself in that moment. He's upset, that's the only time he calls her and Jon Mother and Father. At first she tried to correct him, but that only resulted in screaming fits, so now she just ignores it whenever it happens. 

She nods.

"When?"

She sighs. "I don't know. When he's done talking to the Dragon Queen."

 _And when will that be?_ It's as if an iron fist is holding her heart and every time Rickon makes this mistake, the fist squeezes brutally. It could have been true. They could have been parents, her and Jon. She'll never forget the look on his face when she told him, guilt and devastation, but she would swear that in that first moment, there was a spark of joy in his eyes.  _"We can't-"_ he started, before cutting himself off and asking:  _"What do you want to do?"_

It was never meant to happen, they'd believed they were being careful, but  _Gods,_ she wanted it so much. Of course it could never be. It was before Lord Reed's visit and in the end her fear won. Regardless of all the other consequences, nightmares about their child being like Joffrey kept plaguing her and she took moon tea. Now she wishes she hadn't. 

Rickon seems just as lost in thought as she is, thumb in his mouth. "Don't do that, little wolf. Maester Tarly says it's bad for your teeth."

He glares at her, but obeys, only to open his mouth and inform her: "I hate the Dragon Queen!"

She has to bite her lip to refrain from saying " _So do I"._

After that, he falls asleep surprisingly quickly and Sansa resigns herself to the inevitability of returning to the feast. She sits down next to Arya and takes the full cup of wine she's offered, drinking deeply, ignoring the vile taste in the hope it will warm her insides the way only Jon can. She closes her eyes and allows herself to pretend he's there, the solid anchoring presence of his body near, even if it means she'll wake up with throbbing temples, a parched mouth and salty trails on her cheeks in the morning.

Tonight, when she's lying in her bed, she'll imagine having his strong arms around her, the heat of his body oozing into hers. She'll ache to feel his soft lips and calloused fingers on every inch of her skin, to have him moving inside her. Her eyes fly open as she remembers her surroundings and with a blush creeping up her face and neck, she glances around the hall, worrying for a moment someone might have guessed what she was thinking about.

She catches her sister staring at her and her cheeks burn hotter. Arya doesn't seem to notice, she just bites the rim of her cup. "Sansa..."

She meets her eyes.

Arya releases her cup and starts chewing her lip instead. "I know it's been a while... But I never apologized..."

"What for?" she asks, forehead slightly creasing.

"For what I said... About Jon," she clarifies, studying her nails. "I didn't mean it."

"Oh..." Her words hurt, but Sansa can't worry about them. She has too many other problems on her mind. "There's no need."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," she sighs. "Sometimes I wish I was you."

Arya leans forward. "Why?"

"I know you miss him too," she starts, "but it's not the same. You'll never lose him, not truly. You'll always be his little sister."

"I don't understand."

How could she? How could Arya imagine what it's like for her when Jon's love is the one thing in the world she'll always be certain of? She'll never know how it feels to be a stupid girl who can't let go of her silly dreams. "It would be so much easier if I'd always been his sister the way you were. I love him now, but I don't know how he feels about me."

There's indignation and disbelief in her sister's voice. "He loves you! I know he does!"

"He cares about me," Sansa admits. "And he's grown fond of me... But what can I offer him, compared to the likes of Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Jon doesn't care about all of that!" She sounds outright angry now. 

She shrugs, staring into her wine cup. "They say she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

Sansa looks up when Arya doesn't answer and sees that her sister is trying to control her breathing. "Even if that's true, it wouldn't change his mind. You make his whole world more beautiful!"

She can't suppress a giggle as Arya makes a gagging motion at her own words.  _Jon would never say such a thing._ Bile rises in her throat and she sets her cup aside. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. He might not even have a choice.”

Arya has no answer for that. There's only pity in her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit stuck on this one, so I decided to end it here and come back with a part 2 from Jon's POV when my muse is less fickle...


End file.
